Six-Shooter Mista
by JuliusAuthor
Summary: AU. Mista rides into the town of Overcross and meets up with the sheriff and a band of misfits to create a gang good enough to take down the Boss. Rated T, but there is some colorful language here and there.


On a sunny morning, in a city by the name of Overcross, a man had strolled into the town.

The year was 1878. The population of Overcross was nearly 400. It was one of the most bustling cities in the whole of the Wild West. It was situated right in-between two hot spots for gold in California, and many a traveler came by to lay their hat after a long day's work. Men, women, and children could all be employed in the town, and make a real good living, too.

On a horse, colored with a perky white, and grey undertones on its stomach, was a man in a ten-gallon hat. His looks were that of a stranger; one that had never been to the United States beforehand. He carried a bright purple revolver, streaked with a white lightning bolt, and strapped to his pouch. He held a water canteen in his off-hand as he guided his horse to a chain.

Stashing his water pouch, the town slowly came out of hiding to look upon the Italian stranger. It was obvious from his stature that he was an European, with pinkish pale skin as he unsaddled his horse and jumped down. Looking towards the people in front of him, the man was at quite an awe; almost twenty people had come out front to see the immigrant.

Once he had successfully laced up his horse to the metal post, he began to speak in a surprisingly calm tone of voice for someone who had traveled such a long time.

"Well, am I intrudin'?"

The crowd was rather shocked that the man could speak English, as one of the steel-booted miners walked up to him. The man was dressed in dark gray, with a slur on his voice. He had been drinking before this.

"You some kinda cowboy, fella? We ain't ever seen you 'round these parts."

The stranger had never heard this type of language before. "Cowboy?" the young man replied. "No, sir, I don't believe so. You see, my name is Guido Mista. I'm here to find someone."

"Well then, who ya lookin' fer? We got every kinda commodity you'd need in this here town."

Mista couldn't bring himself to show any emotion to this man. He was intruding him, and that wouldn't stand. Before Mista could begin to put his hand up in protest, another tall, dark man responded from the back, slowly stepping forward.

"Well, if you're looking for someone, maybe I can help."

He turned his head up to reveal short, fragrant locks of yellow hair and defined cheekbones, with green eyes and a convincing smile. "I'm Sheriff Giorno. Nice to meet ya." Giorno reached his hand out to shake Mista's.

Mista was surprisingly put at ease by the friendliness of Giorno; the man he was chasing wasn't one to be easily trifled with, so he was glad the town still had a little soul left. He took the hand he was going to use to strike the ignorant man and clasped Giorno's, creating a tight handshake.

"Good to meet you too. I'm just looking for... a close friend of mine. Maybe you've seen him around?"

Giorno smiled in response. "Sure there, friend. Who might you be looking for?"

Mista was hesitant to say the name of the man he despised, the one who had ruined everything. A singular beaded ring of sweat ran down Mista's face as he slowly opened his mouth to state the name of his aggressor.

"I'm looking... for a man named Diavolo."

The whole crowd tensed, as did Giorno. Muttered conversations between friends began. " _ _Diavolo?__ " _"_ _ _No, he couldn't possibly..." "Is that boy trying to get killed?"__ These and many more statements slowly rang through Mista's ears as he realized just who he was dealing with.

"Good God, boy, you're looking for Diavolo?"

Another face stretched through the crowd. A man with black hair, short and elegant. He wore a white suit with blots of black hand-painted upon it. He wore two golden bug-shaped objects in his hair, and also wore a small knife on a holster near the back of his hip.

"You know how deep that man's influence runs? You'll be dead in the hour if you try to go after him."

The man spoke words with deep resolve, and couldn't help but convert Giorno to his ideals. "He's right, you know. D-…" He hesitated before speaking the man's name again. "That fellow's taken out twenty-three men in duel. Although, they were lucky to even get to meet the man himself."

The crowd slowly began to pour back into their houses once more. Diavolo was never a name you could talk about freely in conversation. While Mista was surprised by the fear surrounding his name, it certainly wasn't too much of a shocker. Mista knew the kind of influence that __bastard__ could bring to people. " _ _He's probably even converted people in this town to work under him, the son of a bitch."__

Giorno looked around the town hesitantly, before realizing that Diavolo's spies and soldiers were hidden in plain sight. It wasn't hard to find the ones who were staring hard at the conversation they were having, trying to get as much information as possible to report to their superiors. "Here, how about you come in my office, Mista? We can talk more about your little "missing persons" report there."

As the duo of them slowly walk towards the jailhouse, the man dressed in white chose to follow after them, wordlessly and carefully avoiding eye sight traveling to the sheriff's building.

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"Oi."

The masked man, covering his identity with a bandana, passed a sheet of paper silently to the other man. He was large, wearing a yellow royal shirt and also covering his identity with a large ten-gallon hat and bandana. He weighed well over 200 pounds.

Passing into the nearby building on the outskirts of the town, he held onto the paper tightly as he reached...

Him.

He was skulking in the night, like Dracula himself. He always sat in his office in the dark, carrying a small lantern to read books or pass the time. Reportedly, the only time he ever turned on the light was for his right-hand man.

"Boss... I've, uh... got a report here for you."

He didn't move from his chair until the officer laid the sheet on his desk, making the only noise in the entire room echo off the walls. The Boss responded without turning around.

"Tell me... Polpo... do you think this "cowboy"… could ever beat me? Beat __us__?"

"Uh... no, I don't think so. I mean, maybe if he tried hard, but-"

The boss stomped his foot down hard on the ground in reply.

"I don't look for reporters and scouts as officers, Polpo. I look for men who can get the job done. I hope I can reserve you as a last-minute resort to stop this man if the time were ever to come."

"And most importantly..." He turned his eyes to the overweight man, cowering in fear behind him.

"I expect you to do it right."

 ** **AU: AHHHHHH THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN****

 ** **In all serious, I'm really glad I finally got this story down on paper (or Microsoft Word, technically). I'm going to be making this my major story for the future. The next story will be Narancia Teaches Typing CH 2, 100%. I won't delay it anymore. This fic is probably going to continue for 6-8 chapters, and I don't know when I'm going to update it. After the next chapter of NTT (Narancia Teaches Typing), expect another chapter of this in about a week or so, depending on if I have any new ideas. Thanks for reading, and have a good one!****

 ** **Ciao!****

 ** **~Julius****


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